


Angel Unaware

by alexandradances



Series: Angel Unaware [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 01:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13648335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexandradances/pseuds/alexandradances
Summary: Poppie and her father mourned Dean four long months, but when he's pulled  from the depths of hell with only a hand print shaped scar the hunters are thrust into the search for answers. What will happen when they come face to face with the Angel who pulled him out? And what is this blue light emanating from him?A sisfic about Bobby Singer's daughter, CasxOFC.





	1. Chapter One- Back in the Saddle Again

**Angel Unaware**

**Summary:**

Poppie and her father mourned Dean four long months, but when he's pulled  from the depths of hell with only a hand print shaped scar the hunters are thrust into the search for answers. What will happen when they come face to face with the Angel who pulled him out? And what is this blue light emanating from him? 

A sisfic about Bobby Singer's daughter, CasxOFC.

 

**_Chapter One- Back in the Saddle Again_ **

 

**_September 18 th, 2008_ **

 

Her hands grazed over the cold metal with a familiar aloofness. She worked over the engine with a last glance to make sure nothing was out of place before she carefully removed the prop and clicked the hood down. A deep breath escaped her lips as she turned to lean against her car and let her eyes sweep lazily over the littered junk yard. Old rusted cars filled the gravel lot like they always had, all in different levels of age, and she examined them as they almost screamed their histories at her. A particular heap of metal called to her from the outskirts of the yard. Its rust over taking what she assumed was once a beautiful blue paint job. The windows dusted over from weather exposure and neglect and the windshield was cracked in the bottom right corner. Her feet led her to the vehicle automatically, oil stained fingers shielded her face from the onslaught of heat beating down from the high sun. It was a dead ringer for her own vehicle of choice, and the stark contrast made her stomach lurch in an awkward sort of foreboding. Hunting was a dangerous day job without any guarantees. The scabbed over holes left from fallen loved ones kept her in constant reminder.

"Pops?" The gruff voice pierced through the hot afternoon and caused the woman to snap her head in its direction. A flash of blond and clank of metal gave away her fear as her body tensed into the car for leverage. The same deep voice laughed and crunched gravel under his feet as he approached, "It's just me, Poppie. It has certainly been a while." His green eyes cruised over her body; tall, lean and wrapped just right in a white t-shirt and jeans. He stopped his glance at her face, usually soft, hardened into an unsure frown. Poppie's flexed muscles leaped into action, a knife pulled from her pocket as she fought to connect the silver blade to this creature's neck.

"What are you?" She demanded, knocking him into a nearby car where his head landed hard against a window. He fought to push her back, struggled to pull the knife from her. "I asked, what are you?!" Her face was inches from this.. Was it a shapeshifter? A ghoul? They had buried Dean instead of giving him a hunter's funeral. It could be anything and it would be their own fault. It even smelled exactly like the Dean she remembered; gun powder and whiskey. Probably a ghoul then, since she was pretty sure a shapeshifter would need a live victim to mimic such detail. 

"Poppie Ann!" Another older male voice yelled into the yard, it echoed against the vast lot of cars. "It's really him!" The sound of her father's voice stopped her dead, but she didn't release the man in her grasps until she saw the red line soaking through an old rag wrapped around his arm and the knife her dad was waiving to get her attention.

"Dean, it's really you?" Her voice was weaker than before, disbelief dripped from her strangled words. Dean nodded and stood himself up and away from the car. Her hands clasped around his arms, her eyes studying the man in front of her. Poppie had woken up in a cold sweat every night for the last four months. The stories her mind would weave always ended the suffering of the brother she couldn't save on full display. Her memories peppered them with bittersweet reminders of just who she had lost; the late nights they would sneak into the salvage yard with a six pack after her father and Sammy had gone to sleep. 

“Summer of 95. We were in your car installing the new dash and you confessed your overpowering sexual desire for me.” Dean lifted his eyebrows and ran his arm around her waist, pulling her into him and smiling widely at the woman.

She almost didn't dare to move from that position or even blink. She couldn't remember falling asleep, but she was sure this couldn't be real. Dean Winchester was dead, ripped to shreds and dragged to hell four months ago, she had seen it. She helped bury his body. Wait a minute, what did he just say? She ripped from his embrace and slapped him hard against the side of his face. His smile didn't falter.

 "Oh my _fucking_ GAWD DEAN! I was drunk and had just been dumped and ALL I said was that you weren't repulsive!! It was disgusting, you're disgusting and--”

“Relax, sweetheart. You know it has to be me now, right?” He lifted his eyebrow again and Poppie punched him square in the gut. He doubled over as a pained grunt escaped his lips, then Poppie pulled him upright and snaked her arms tightly around his neck. She squeezed him so hard it choked the breath out of him faster than the solid punch she had just administered to his stomach. He heard a choked sound come from his neck and saw her pull away to look up at him with tear-filled eyes. 

“But how?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out." Dean said with a determined and rough voice. He pulled her back into a hug and rubbed his nose into her hair. Eucalyptus and rosemary filled his nose, a scent he didn't realize he would ever miss, but he had thought about it for years of Hell. "Still using that hippie shampoo, I see." He deflected and she pulled him even closer and laughed as tears ran down her face. She hated when he teased her but today he could get away with almost anything he wanted. It's crazy what you miss about someone when they're dead.

Dean took the lead into the house with his arm wrapped back around her and Bobby stepped back with a smile as his children entered through the screen door. When they crossed the threshold the stale smell of dust and old books hit her like it had since childhood. It was the scent of her life, from childhood to her now 29 years. She had spent what felt like years of her life stuck into old and disgusting motel rooms, but whenever the job was done her home and father always awaited her in good old Sioux Falls. And sometimes even her adoptive brothers made an appearance but after the Earth shattering loss of Dean in May, she hadn't seen Sam much either.

"When's the last time you heard from Sammy, Pops?" Dean said, an edge to his voice that she couldn't miss. She knew he'd never approve of Sam going out on his own, but he didn't give them a choice. Any time she or her father chased him down he went farther under ground. He did call every few weeks to check in, and she was grateful to have that much communication with the young hunter.

"He called last Thursday or Friday. He didn't say where he was but he said he'd been passed the Grand Canyon at some point. Said it was beautiful and I'd have to go see it one day...in fact he promised to take me. Which is more than we've gotten in almost two whole months. He was drunk Dean. And sloppy." She pursed her lips and looked up into tense green eyes. Dean let out an almost growl, and it caused her to jump a little. Her eyes glanced down his body certain to find some kind of reminder from his departure into Hell, but he looked as good as he had the morning before he went under. With a very determined posture he marched into the library off the kitchen, and sat down at Bobby's antique computer.

"Got a phone on you?" He asked, and Poppie slipped her cell phone out of her pocket and tossed it to him. When he began to dial a number from the web page in front of him the younger Singer made her way back into the kitchen, pulling a few beers out of the fridge. Her mind was still racing with possibilities but she couldn't quite figure out how this had happened. They had spent all four months scouring every book at every library, internet databases and even badgered every hunter they had ever met. But she and her father never found a way to get Dean back and as far as she was concerned, it was impossible. Only recently had she started to accept it as the new normal; the nightmares of his death, waking up and remembering he was gone. She had even put a little memorial for him in the upstairs hallway; a frame with a picture of him adorned with a rosary and prayer candles. He was by all intents and purposes her brother and her father's son. They had mourned him and tried to live everyday with his wishes in mind. It was why Sam's behavior had been so hard on her and it was why she had chased him down so many times.

"We're going to get Sam, stay here and watch the phones." Bobby's weathered face popped into the kitchen doorway. She saw his mouth move, but she was certain the words she heard were wrong.

"I'm sorry, are you trying to leave me behind?!" She stood up with a force and started walking toward the front door, "Because I think you're trying to leave without me and that's not going to happen." Poppie had grabbed her keys off the hook next to the door and shut the screen door behind her before either man could protest. Dean and Bobby shrugged at each other and followed suit, they knew better than to argue but it had been worth a try to get her to stay. The blond had started into the driver's seat out of habit when she stopped herself and stole a quick look at Dean. She knew he had been through hell, literally. After reassuring herself and taking a deep calming breath, she tossed the keys at him. "Please don't crash, I know you haven't driven in a while." His eyes lit up and he almost ran the rest of the way to the fully restored car, adjusting the seat and rubbing his fingers over the leather steering wheel before the other hunters could even get into the car themselves.

"Oh man, have I missed this." He swelled with delight, turning the key and bringing the sweet hum of the incredible car to life. Dean gingerly regained his bearings at the wheel and sped off to the location the GSP had given him. Everyone's mind was whirling with the possibilities of what was coming, but none of them spoke. Trees whizzed by as Poppie watched out the window from the backseat, she hadn't packed a single thing in her haste and passed the time trying to process the ridiculous situation she was in.

Sam and Dean had both died and come back. It was easy to figure out Sam's incredible recovery when Dean stalked guiltily back into Bobby's that day, but when Lilith had cornered them and sent her hounds after Dean, it had seemed so final. What had Sam done? Her stomach sunk with the realization that she may have to see another brother dragged into Hell with no way to protect him. They pulled into innocuous looking hotel and bribed the receptionist for his room number.

Poppie's worry grew with each step closer to his door. She had no idea what they were going to find. Would it even be Sam? Would it be his mutilated body left over from a hell hound's feast? Dean and Bobby knocked on the door as she stood back a few steps, breath held tight and knife at the ready.

"So, where is it?" A brunette clad in underwear and a tight undershirt opened the door. Bobby and Dean were silent as they shared incredulous looks.

"Where is what?" Dean asked, leaning in to turn on the charm.

"The pizza it took three people to deliver?" Her sarcasm was thick, and Poppie suspected she would soon realize they weren't pizza delivery boys.

"I think we have the wrong room,"

"Dean?" Sam took a step into the door way and froze, his muscles tight and still, ready to pounce at the next sound.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean said, a glow to his cheeks to see his brother alive and in one piece, not to mention with a piece. The girl was smoking and if it were under different circumstances he definitely would have tried to hit that. After he took two slow steps into the room toward his brother, the deer in headlights look vanished into a flash of anger and he jumped the newly free man with a knife. Bobby jumped in to pull the boys apart but Sam was adamant.

"What are you?"

"Like you didn't do this?"

"Do what?!"

"Sam, we've both been through this already, it's REALLY him!" Poppie finally entered the room as her father successfully pulled Sam two feet from Dean. Sam eyed her with a flash of guilt that Dean almost missed before turning his attention back to him.

"How?" Sam stuttered, and Dean couldn't help but break out into an almost giddy grin.

"I know I look fantastic, huh?" His words sounded like the smile on his lips. The blond woman watched the interaction and relaxed in a way she hadn't in months. Those boys needed each other, and the world wasn't right if they weren't at the others' side. Of course, people coming back from the dead wasn't quite right either. She concentrated on the boys, lost in thought and scared to death of what Sam must have to confess. But the clueless expression he held pulled her gut feeling in the other direction. The new realization wasn't comforting either.

"Poppie." Her head shot toward the still open hotel room, and her eyes scanned the empty hallway.

"Did you guys hear-" She cut herself off when the sound came again and no one budged. A magnetic pull shifted her weight and before she knew what was happening, she had exited the room.

"Poppie Singer, you must protect yourself. Stop Sam Winchester." The voice was coming from everywhere, but when Bobby called down to see where his daughter had wondered off to at a time like this, the voice stopped.

"Dad, you didn't hear anything just now, did you?" She shook her head as the only sound that filled the empty hallway now was the clacking of her boots.

"Only the sound of my own voice trying to find your idjit ass!" He huffed as she reentered the room to a tense stand off between the Winchesters. An energy was suddenly vacuumed out of the room and her stomach tried to go with it. Stars filled her vision as she hit the couch that was, thankfully, shoved into the middle of the room from the brothers' tousle.

"Poppie?" The old hunter jumped to her side, but she simply shook her head and the feeling was gone.

"I'm.. I'm fine. I think I'm going to go sleep in the car. Don't kill each other, kay?" Before anyone could protest, she ran from the hotel and into the dark street. The contents of her stomach lurched onto the sidewalk with a disgusting splash, her vision blurred and her balance shifted. The world continued to spin as she pulled herself back onto her feet and wiped her mouth onto her sleeve. Maybe going off alone wasn't the best idea. Her feet continued to pull her farther from the hotel as fast as she could go while remaining upright. To a passerby she probably looked drunk off her ass, and she shivered as she contemplated the idea that someone may find her in this sudden and weakened state. The blond's shaky fingers pushed clumsily into her pocket, and she fought to pull the cell phone out before the darkness completely engulfed her vision.

The next flash of light held the pain of the wet cement that connected with her head. The sound of the phone as it skidded into the damp street, the pieces separating and rendering her last chance for help useless. She struggled to pull her hands under her abdomen to push herself up, but the weight was too much.

**_Someone help me._ **

She found herself begging in her head, praying to anything that would listen. A bright blue light filled her vision while a thick, humid heat enveloped her body. She had always imagined that death was cold, but it was so fitting that in her last moments the sensation she surrendered herself to was comfort.

Then it was black.


	2. Hey Good Lookin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppie wakes up at home, but how?

**Chapter Two: Hey Good Lookin'**

**_September 18th th, 2018_ **

**_RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING, RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING_ **

 

Poppie lunged forward, gasping for air. Soft, aged fabric ripped as her hands violently pulled at the surface her body had been resting on. The scent of dust and rosemary bombarded her senses and pulled her eyes open. Dingy papered walls cradled her in an impossible comfort. Her dingy papered walls.

 

"Dad? Dad?!" She screamed, jumping out of the bed and running into the library, the sounds of the phones still blaring. Poppie remembered Dean, the hotel where Sammy was at…Did any of it really happen? Dean had been a recurrent subject in her dreams, but it had all seemed so real. The house was empty, but it was definitely her house. She attempted to shake the bugs from her mind, but when she did her shirt tugged at the motion, glued to her skin with a thick, sticky but familiar liquid. Her feet urgently pulled her toward the dusty mirror in the entry way. Her face looked almost dead, even more pale than she usually was with deep purple bags under her eyes. Half-dried blood stained her blond hair and whitened her skin even more in contrast. Slowly she lifted her fingers over a knot matted to her temple. She cringed, expecting pain to shoot from the wound, but when she gingerly peeled it from her skin, the area was completely unmarked.

 

It was dark outside the windows as the woman retraced her steps and into the kitchen. The oven read 10:01 PM but it had to be wrong, she had been hours away only 45 minutes ago. Her memory flashed blue warmth, but it was all she could recall from right before she blacked out. Panic filled her lungs instead of air, and for the first time in many years all she wanted was her Daddy. Poppie pulled the still ringing phone off its holder, smashed her thumb onto the plunger, and hurriedly dialed his cell number.

 

"Uh. Hello?" His voice was raspy and incredulous, as he answered the call from his own home phone.

 

"Dad?" Poppie's voice betrayed her panic, the word coming out in three octaves.

 

"Poppie?! Where the hell are you? You can't possibly be in Sioux Falls right now." Bobby wide eyed his hotel room clock, showing it hadn't even been an hour since his daughter fled the hotel like a spooked cat.

 

"I am! I don't know how I got here but I'm covered in blood and I..I don't think it's mine. I mean, I _THINK_ it’s mine, but I’m not wounded! The last thing I remember is Dean coming back and going to get Sam. Then I woke up here. Did that even happen? I'm okay, but I'm freaked out." She finished while pulling at her shirt and struggling it over her head and the phone to rid herself of the horrific reminder.

 

"Hold tight, I'm on my way." He flung himself up from the bed and grabbed his still packed bag, making for the boys' room across the hall. Before he reached the door a loud shrill noise shook the building from inside the room. "DEAN?" He yelled, but no response, "Poppie, honey, I'm coming but there's something happening here. Please be safe, lock yourself in the safe room if you have to." The line went dead. Finally taking a deep breath in, Poppie settled her thoughts while flipping on every light in the house. If something was going to come after her, she at least wanted to see it. Her fear pulled her toward the basement, but the flecks of blood that littered her chest pushed her up the stairs. If whatever had brought her here wanted her dead, she would be dust by now.

 

She went into her room, shutting and locking the heavy wooden door behind her. The life long hunter covered the room in salt, and made sure the devil's trap she had painted into the carpet was intact. When she was satisfied with her work, she peeled the rest of her clothes off and threw them onto the floor before going into her attached bathroom. Her fingers found the light switch in the dark and when she flipped it on, she recoiled at her own reflection. There was blood, she had expected that, but a hand print on her shoulder made her want to scream. It was like she had been slapped by a hand shaped cattle brand, the edges lifted slightly and the mark was bright pink. Poppie barely had the courage to run her thumb over the mark, but it didn't hurt. It was almost identical to the one Dean had shown her except it was much lighter. In some places it was already starting to fade into a fine white scar, like it had been healing for months. She pulled her eyes from the mark and adjusted the shower to a reasonable temperature. As the water warmed, she avoided her reflection and studied everything she could remember from the last 24 hours. 

 

She had been tuning up her car after a hunt when Dean had shown up. From the dead. They located Sam from his cell GPS and went after him. When they found him he was shacked up with some girl, and then... then she remembered the voice.  ** _Stop Sam._**  What did that mean? Then it had felt like the air had been pulled from the room, she had gotten dizzy and tried to get a bus home. Did she make it to the bus? What was this blood and why didn't she have a mark on her? Well, she did have one mark. What the hell was it?

 

Steam spilled from behind the shower door and she took that as a cue to climb in. She immediately filled her hands with shampoo and the soothing sent of eucalyptus blanketed her and slowed her heart rate slightly. Shampoo and blood mixed as she took the time to massage every inch of her body until the water ran clear. After what seemed like an hour the water ran cold and pulled her from the trance like state. It didn't take long to towel off and when she was dressed in one of her father's old t shirts, she climbed into her newly ripped covers. A defeated sigh left her lips and she fingered the shreds of the quilt her grandmother had made before she was born. She rolled over and let her thoughts run wild, deciding that tonight she would sleep with her light on.

 

**_September 19 th, 2008_ **

 

Poppie scooted around the corner of the kitchen in a sleepy daze, her bones whined in protest as her muscles struggled to move their mass. Her father had called while she was asleep and left a message saying they were stopping by Pam's before heading home. But then Dean left another telling her that the psychic’s eyes had been burned out of her skull by something called a Castiel and they were staying until she woke up. 

 

Evening had broken without any more news, and she calmed herself by remembering that both boys had already beaten death and that her father had hunted almost everything out there at least once. Her fingers dumbly followed their best recollection of how to brew a cup of coffee as her thoughts flitted drowsily. The scent of bitter caffeinated salvation filled her nose with hot hope. While she didn't have any bruises or cuts, her muscles were soft and hard to move. The warmth of the liquid passed over her lips and soothed the distraught woman. 

 

The sound of fluttering fabric in her father's study caused her muscles to tense and automatically pull the gun from the fake bottom of a kitchen drawer. Her toes inched closer to the doorway, her brain finally alert and ears open. The site of an intruder sent her into a battle stance, "Who are you?" Her voice was strong and confident despite her growing fear and she was relieved that her muscles weren't shaking under the weight of the hand gun.

 

"I am Castiel. Do not be concerned, I mean you no harm."

 

She looked at him with wide eyes, and took in the man in the raggedy trench coat. _HE_ was the one who hurt Pamela? The air around this man, this being, was as warm as the coffee she could still taste on her tongue. It was heavy, expectant, and she couldn't believe it but there was a beautiful shimmer of blue emanating from every angle of him. Involuntarily she shook her head, but the light stayed. The energy he gave off was so inviting and safe. She felt herself drawn to him and against her best intentions, she outstretched a hand and brushed her fingers lightly against the front of his shirt and looked up to his piercing blue gaze. 

 

"I am an Angel of the Lord." He rasped, unwavering as she continued to step closer.

 

"You're... an Angel, like a ‘John 3:16’ Angel?" She asked with a now shaky voice, and took another tentative step toward him. "What is this light? Are you glowing?" She put her whole hand on his chest then, feeling the electric shocks of pure energy enter her arm and shoot through her entire body, pooling subtly on the still pink hand print on her shoulder. Poppie suddenly shivered as he stepped into her touch, strengthening the intensity of the connection. Castiel felt a tug in the back of his mind, a warning signal spiking as he felt the draw of this human girl. His vessel was responding strangely and it inspired a feeling of almost fear in him, but instead of flying he could only further close the gap between them.

 

"It's my grace, a whisper of my true visage. Only special beings can witness an Angels' true image, hear their real voice without peril." He looked down at her with curiosity, her eyes trailing around the entirety of his vessel. "I spoke to you at the hotel."

 

"That was you? I... I thought I had made it up. I thought it wasn't real." She paused and looked dead into the supposed angel's eyes. "You're the one who brought me home last night.” His head nodded almost indiscernibly, “What happened?" The light from him glittered like the bottom of a clear swimming pool. It refracted from subtle moves, changed constantly and almost vanished if you looked the wrong way. It wasn't distracting per say, except that she had never seen a person glow.

 

"I had not yet found a vessel, Dean could not hear my true voice so I attempted another avenue. When I realized I had overpowered you, I attempted to bring you home to rest. You fled and eventually fell and hit your head on the side walk. I healed your wounds when I found you." His words found her eyes widening more, if it were even possible.

 

"You burned Pamela's eyes from the inside out. Can you fix that, too?" At that she flashed a glance back to his face and suddenly became aware of how close she had gotten. Her hand flew to her side and she stepped back several paces while clearing her throat. The fair skin of her cheeks grew pink, betrayed by her light complexion. Castiel wondered why the blood rushing to the face of a human would cause his vessel to... pulse. 

 

"I cannot. Her injuries were caused by exposure to Angel grace. It is immune to healing. But even so, I can only follow Heaven’s will and they did not give me orders to heal this Pamela.” He simply spoke. His body felt cold at the space her hand had once occupied, he didn't know he could feel cold.

 

"It isn't Heaven's will to restore the sight of a woman it harmed? Isn't healing the blind kind of its thing? Why did you heal me then?" Poppie said with disbelief. She geared up for a fight, but Castiel simply looked down to the ground. It was the guilt dripping obviously from his expression that confused her. "Why is a concussion more deserving than having your eyes burnt out of your skull?"

 

"I warned her not to look at my true visage. Heaven has strict orders to keep you and the Winchester's safe. I do not have the same orders of the psychic. I'm sure she is a very deserving human, but I am a servant of God."

 

"So, you don't make the rules. You just work here."

 

"I do not work in your Father's house." He looked oddly at her, not understanding the figure of speech. A small giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it, and his vessel again pulsed.

 

"No. But you kind of do, you know, like 'In my Father's house there are many, many rooms?'" She said in reference to one of the few church songs she had heard in her very brief time inside them, wishing suddenly that she could boast a more righteous life in the presence of the Angel.

 

"I don't understand. My Father doesn't have a house. Or any rooms." His complete misunderstanding of her words filled her with absolute joy, her laugh erupted from the bottom of her belly and filled the empty house.

 

"I must go. Heaven calls to me."

 

She started to protest but before she could even open her mouth, the Angel was gone. Taking with him a fullness to the room that she hadn't realized he had provided. The dusty study room was a bit darker than she had remembered as she looked around to verify that she was indeed alone. Sighing, she pushed her feet toward the farmhouse kitchen and picked up her previously abandoned coffee from the counter. At least she had a few hours to recover before anyone was home. She had to figure out what in the world she was going to tell everyone, her dad and Dean were going to flip.

 


	3. Angel Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppie discovers a new gift.

**_Chapter Three: Angel Song,_ **

**_September 2008_ **

 

"That pig headed Angel did what?!" The raspy voice of her father boomed through the house as the small hunter explained what had transpired in their absence. She shrank away at his outburst, but began to explain again that Castiel had picked her up from the sidewalk and somehow brought her home to safety, and popped in to introduce himself the next day. "That sonofabitch laid hands on MY daughter, but won't heal poor Pamela?! What backass kind of Angel burns a woman's EYES out and causes another to drop practically dead in the street and lose a liter of blood!?" He continued his tirade while pacing the dirty carpet in front of the kitchen table.

 

Dean, Sam and Poppie sat with their heads bowed like they had when Bobby had lectured them as children. Dean was angry and Sam looked like his skin might melt off if you looked at him too hard, she would have to find out what had him looking so guilty. "Poppie, that _'Angel'_ comes back again, and you put two bullets between his eyes, ya hear me?!" His fingers put air quotes around the word angel, and if he hadn't been so angry the young Singer would have probably laughed at the obscurity of it.

 

"Bobby, we already know shooting it won't do anyth-" Dean dared speak up, but Bobby cut him off to yell,"No, but it'll sure as hell make ME feel better!" And with that, the old man stormed off to find something in one of his books to keep Angels at bay. Swearing about nobody telling him in Dad training how to keep Angels from touching his daughter as he pulled a liquor bottle from his stash.

 

When he was safely away, the blond girl let out a snicker and Dean took his turn to stand up; anger flashed behind his green eyes. "This isn't a laughing matter Pops! We filled that thing with 3 tons of lead, Ruby's knife and he still walked through every sigil we have EVER seen like he was strutting the red carpet. Now he knows where you live and apparently has some kind of interest in your pretty little ass!"

 

"Yeah, the same interest he has in yours!" Poppie shot back while standing up herself, attempting to look as tall as she could. "Castiel saved me when I was going to die on some no name street while you two were arguing about how you got back from Hell! He pulled you out, Dean! And I mean, he's a flippin' ANGEL. Maybe we could take a breath and consider that he may be one of the good guys. He certainly felt like a good man."

 

Dean's eyebrows raised, "Felt?"

 

Stopping dead in her tracks, the blond whipped around to face the insinuation a little too quickly to be coy. "I.. I mean.. I.." Her fingers found the bridge of her nose and she pinched with a hard sigh, she couldn't lie herself out of this one, "I mean, really, he was GLOWING! How did you not touch him? All I did was put my hand on his chest! It's not like I had promiscuous sex with someone I just met at a skeezy bar!" The huff that came from the bottom of her throat accented the pivot she made before bouncing out the door and up the stairs to her room. Before reaching the top, she heard Sam laugh lightly and Dean slam out the backdoor.

 

Whatever. I don't have to assume he's dangerous because he's powerful. Dean is strong and he wouldn't hurt any... innocent person. Ugh. Whatever.

 

It frustrated her to no end that her father and Dean consistently treated her with a double standard. It was sweet to a fault, comforting to be cared for, but she couldn't stand being punished for having a vagina. It wasn't like she had invited the Angel into the house. It isn't like she didn't know she had acted stupidly, but he just felt so pure. It was like she could feel his intentions and while he had a strange wall built up, his heart was good.

 

"Oh, Castiel." She murmured and slouched into her desk chair and stared into a photo of her mother. She wouldn't even be in this mess if her mother was still alive, she wouldn't even be the same person.

 

"She loves you still very much." A voice spoke from behind her causing her to jump ten feet in the air and twirl around to face him. Her hand slapped to her chest to slow her breathing at the site of the glowing Angel.

 

"You scared me again!" She breathed out, now very aware of his presence in her room.

 

"You called for me." He said levelly and absolutely. She felt the corners of her mouth twitch and she took a step toward him.

 

"I did? You're right, I guess I did, but I didn't mean to. All I have to do to see you again is call your name?" She asked incredulously.

 

"If I am available, you need only pray to me. I will always come to you." Castiel spoke resolutely but didn't know why he'd make a promise like that to a human girl. His orders did not demand it, but he couldn't help it, he just wanted to. He could not remember a time when he had wanted anything but to follow his orders. His foot dragged across the carpet subtly and inched closer to her. She smiled and tilted her head as if thinking about something, but didn't speak. After a moment Castiel felt the pull of her prayers, the words playing in his mind like a phone ringing to a human. He almost felt his lips twitch upwards but remained stoic. Poppie saw his almost smile, and hers grew.

 

"So, you heard that? Like the exact words or just like a door bell?" She still couldn't believe she was in the presence of an Angel. Her mother had been very religious, her father had always said that they had gone to church every Sunday and Wednesday. She made pies for the congregation, and broccoli casserole for every funeral or wedding.

 

"I hear your words, but I don't see a strange man in your room." He deadpanned. Poppie couldn't help but giggle again, deciding that his obliviousness would be her new favorite toy. Castiel tilted his head at her laugh, he hadn't meant to be humorous, and it seemed that she frequently found what he said funny. He didn't mind though.

 

"You're the strange man in my room!" She said, somehow another foot closed their distance without her noticing. Some kind of energy connected them. She noticed that she was fully aware of his stance and facial expression without even looking at him. Did all Angels fill the room like this? Did it have something to do with her being able to see his Grace?

 

"I am not a man, I'm an Angel." He said, still remaining as stoic as he had before. Castiel wasn't sure when he'd gotten so close to her, but now he had to look down into her eyes. They were wide and blue but slightly squinted with concentration. She was thinking about something quite deliberately and he needed to know what it was. "What are you thinking?"

 

"I can feel this... this barrier you have that keeps you from feeling anything. Is that an Angel thing? On the front you are so loyal, so dedicated to your Father and your orders. But... there's this other Castiel back there and... and I just can't get to him. Is this part of me being able to see your 'true visage'?" She quoted the Angel from their first meeting. He was taken aback, he didn't know any mortal who could tap into Angels' subconsciouses like that. Most Angels could send and receive words from each other telepathically, it was generally how they communicated, but this was strange.

 

"I don't know. I've never heard of anyone having the ability to feel at an Angel's subconscious. In theory we shouldn't even have one. Angel's are taught that emotion is a cardinal sin, emotions lead us to question our orders and we are servants of Heaven." His eyes had widened slightly at her question, then squinted similarly to hers as he studied the woman. She looked average for a human; two arms, two legs, a head and torso. Her face was soft and above average in appearance, though it was incredibly rounded and young for a hunter. Her eyes were blue even though her mother's had been green and her father's were brown. Her blond hair was lighter than her mother's had been but not unnatural. She gave off an energy that was full of a warmth and kindness, uncharacteristic of someone with her life experiences, but she had a fire in her from her father. Her lips curved upward mischeviously.

 

"Are you checking me out?" Poppy smiled broadly.

 

"No." Castiel’s eyes were slits now, trying to understand the meaning of her question.

 

"You said that awful quick." She traced a finger up his chest playfully and looked up at him with her best puppy dog eyes.

 

"I don't understand why the speed of my speech would alter its meaning."

 

"You're denying an awful lot to be telling the truth."

 

"Why would affirming the truth lead you to believe I was lying?"

 

Finally she let out a small laugh and let him off the hook, she couldn't resist poking a little fun at the raggedy Angel in front of her. It was then that something entered her mind.

 

"You're possessing someone like a demon. Is... is he okay? Is he still alive? Can.. can he see me?" She stumbled a little as she let her mind push further into his, searching for an energy that was different from his own.

 

"I am in a vessel. A devout man of God, who prayed to become something greater and accepted my offer with full and complete consent. He is alive, and he is vaguely aware of what's going on." His words were strange to him as he had never had to explain what it meant for an Angel to be in a vessel. In truth, he hadn't had many conversations with humans, never this in depth or this long. He had watched the Earth since the dawning of time. The evolution of God's creations; the fish, then animals, birds and then man. He had watched man intently from Heaven, their accomplishments and the wars they waged. Every small detail and life in between, but speaking to them had never piqued his interest. He had never before had orders to spend so much time with a select few, to try and gain their trust.

 

"What's his name?" She almost didn't ask, afraid that knowing too much would force her to accept that he was inside of another human being. Afraid that the feelings he stirred inside her would be tainted with the knowledge that there was another man in there, seeing her and feeling her slight touches. But then she had realized how foolish it was to be worried about that. It wasn't like she was pursuing a relationship with a man, this was an Angel. Dean's guardian Angel, and apparently hers now as well. There was no chance for romantic feelings off any kind. He wasn't even allowed to have feelings for Pete's Sake!

 

"Jimmy. Jimmy Novak." She pursed her lips at him while still probing for the man's energy but couldn't find it.

 

"I can't find him in there, I can only feel you. Hmm." She reached out and placed her hand back on his chest in the same spot she had before, thinking that possibly a physical connection could enhance her ability. The little sparks of energy erupted through her arm and for a moment she almost pulled back, but when she relaxed and pushed into it she heard him speak.

 

**_What is this woman? Humans can't feel Angels. That is absurd._ **

 

"Hello, standing right here! Don't talk like I'm crazy!" She looked up at his eyes and stumbled back at his expression.

 

"I hadn't said that out loud." He squinted his eyes further and chased her retreated figure to recreate what had just occurred. His fingers wrapped roughly around both her shoulders and he focused on the sound of the other Angels' voices in the back of his mind. Poppie almost fell down at the onslaught of whispers in her head and probably would have if not for Castiel's tight grip on her. The voices spoke all at once and she shook her head trying to focus on any one phrase in particular.

 

Her blood ran cold. She didn't need to focus, because she understood all of them.

 

"Cas..Castiel? What is this? What am I hearing?" She looked into his eyes as they widened again and his grip on her shoulders involuntarily tightened.

 

**_Protect the Winchesters._ **

**_Protect the girl._ **

**Lucifer cannot rise.**

 

He was flabbergasted and afraid. What was this girl that she could tap into something so far above human comprehension? He needed to seek council immediately.

 

"You're leaving?" Her voice betrayed her disappointment but she didn't care. She could feel that Castiel was afraid of her, and it was worse than realizing he was in a meat suit.

 

"I must-"

 

"Get away from her you, asshat!" Bobby yelled as he drew his weapon and fired. The Angel was pulled from her by the force of impact and Poppie yelled his name.

 

"Castiel! Are you okay? What the fuck, Dad?!"

 

"I thought I told you to do that if you saw that good for nothing Angel again!"

 

Castiel seized the moment and flew to the farthest point he could reach. Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you guys can figure out what all the titles have in common??


	4. The Strawberry Roan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rise of the Witnesses

**Chapter Four: The Strawberry Roan**

 

**September 23rd, 2018**

 

Poppie smirked as the boys entered the safe room with open mouths. Her feet led her straight to the dirty cot hanging from the wall on the other side of the room. She had helped her father build this place while Dean was in hell. Today he intended to lock her in it while they put to rest the spirits that had confronted them after investigating some missing hunters. The boys busied themselves making salt rounds while Poppie and Bobby poured through lore book after lore book. She studied symbols from Greek mythology, hieroglyphics from Egypt and characters from Japan, but couldn't find anything like it.

  
“See, this is why I can't get behind God.” Dean spouted as he stamped salt down into shot gun shells with Sam. His voice was weighted with the years of his life spent witnessing death. Being too late to stop it, and continuing to try because he knew if he stopped there would be no one else to do it.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Poppie said offhandedly as she continued her research, almost immediately regretting the decision to humor him.  
  
“If he doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason -- just random, horrible, evil -- I get it, okay. I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?” Dean turned in his seat to look at Sam, who shrugged in response. The room was silent while they just looked at each other, contemplating what had been said. They had all seen some pretty dark stuff. Hell, they hunted the very things that people made horror movies about. All three of the children in that safe room had lost their Mothers to demons and if there was a God who let that happen, what kind of a God was he?  
  
“I ain't touching this one with at 10-foot pole.” Bobby gave an overly nervous chuckle and turned back to his pile of books. Poppie found herself staring at her own book without reading it. Was there a God? Castiel seemed to be sure there was, and she didn't think he would lie to them. But what if he didn't really know?

  
“Found it.” Bobby's voice cut through the tension, Dean and Sam whirled around to see the old hunter rap a pen against his notes. “The symbol you saw -- the brand on the ghosts...Mark of the Witness.”  
  
“Witness? Witness to what?” The boys jumped across the room to see what Bobby had found, Sam ran his eyes over the symbol in the old book. Dean squinted as he waited for the hunter to explain himself, all these stupid sigils were starting to look the same and he was just over this whole situation.  
  
“The unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts -- they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They were like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose them... on purpose.” The words sank in and suddenly the air of the room seemed to become too heavy to breathe. A thumping rose in Poppie's ears and her head shot to the door of the safe room before she realized it was coming from her own chest. Unnatural deaths? Her fingers swept over the oval shaped locket around her neck at the inference. Her blue eyes locked with the weathered eyes of her father, the same thoughts flitting just behind them.   
  
Sam didn't notice, “Who?”

 

“Do I look like I know? But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark, a brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called 'the rising of the witnesses.' It figures into an ancient prophecy.” Bobby said, indignant to the interruption.   
  
Dean shook his head, “Wait, wait. What -- what book is that prophecy from?”  
  
“Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short -- Revelations. This is a sign, guys.”   
  
Sam, Dean and Poppie looked at each other, and the younger Singer finally stood up and joined the three men across the room, “A sign of what?” Bobby closed his eyes and hesitated, where was the parenting manual on getting your kid through this?  
  
“The apocalypse.”

 

They all froze in place, the cold horror of what Bobby had just said washed over them. Sam ran his fingers nervously through his hair, it was stringy from going too long without a shower. He doubted the ghosts would care. Dean's fear turned to anger and disbelief. 

  
“Apocalypse? The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, $5-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?” Dean asked back to the man who had practically raised him, the man he trusted with his and his brother's life, his voice raising an octave.  
  
“That's the one. The rise of the witnesses is a -- a mile marker.” The just over middle aged man said in response, his arms waving over his chest and his voice calm for the content of his explanation.  
  
“Okay, so, what do we do now?” Sam uncrossed his own arms and jumped a little as his brother shrugged it all off with a raspberry.  
  
“Road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience. Bunny Ranch.” He raised his eyebrows and pointed finger guns at the woman on the cot at the last words, her eyes rolled.

 

“Ew, Dean!” Poppie said, irritated, “First things first. How about we survive our friends out there?” She stood up, suddenly feeling like she should be moving. Dean rolled his eyes.  
  
“Great. Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?” He eyed the girl he'd known since he was a kid, if these spirits really were people they couldn't save pulled from their rest, would Poppie's mom show up?  
  
“It's a spell,” Bobby fingered the paper in front of him.“To send the witnesses back to rest. Should work.”  
  
“Should. Great.” Sam paced. He was starting to get claustrophobic and his eyes darted around the tall but skinny room. He could lay down and his head would touch the wall opposite his feet. If he didn't get out of here soon, he was going to lose it.  
  
“If I translate it correctly. I think we got everything we need here at the house.” Bobby stood up and started toward the door.  
  
“Any chance we have everything we need in here?” Poppie asked nervously, her fingers never leaving the pendant around her neck. She couldn't go out there. She didn't remember her mother save from pictures and the stories her father had told her. She had concocted this perfect image over years of dreaming of her, she couldn't stand the idea of being confronted by her angry and tortured spirit.   
  
“So, you thought our luck was gonna start now all of a sudden? Spell's got to be cast over an open fire.” If the old hunter was worried about coming face to face with his dead wife, he hid it well as Dean studied his moves. Poppie was a mess and they could all see it. He desperately wished she would stay in the panic room and far away from the front lines. He had taken her in as a sister many years ago, tried to protect her from the life since they were kids running around the salvage yard. But Poppie was a spit-fire just like her old man and even as she shook in front of him, she would never admit it.  
  
“The fireplace in the library.” Sam said as they braced for the worst.  
  
“Bingo.” 

 

 

 

**_SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN_ **

 

His mind whirled through the events that had transpired over the last few days. She could hear the angels when they made physical contact? What kind of human could do such a thing? Could she be a fallen or a nephilim? No, she was inexplicably and completely human.

 

**Castiel.**

**_Castiel._ **

**Castiel.**

 

The voices called to him, pulled him back to the garrison for a briefing, Uriel particularly urgent. His wings dared not flutter in his current state, one look at him and they would know he was hiding something. Why he was hiding it, he still did not know. Why had he not reported what he had experienced with her the minute it happened? What was he afraid of?

 

**Castiel! The seal has been broken.**

**_Castiel! The seal!_ **

**Castiel! They must not break anymore! You tell the Winchesters to watch their back!**

 

He was relieved to find himself inside the dark kitchen of Bobby Singer and looking on at the still sleeping figure of Dean Winchester. Dean's eyes flickered open at the sense of Castiel's presence and he lifted his sleep heavy body through the night like an animal of prey. The frustration of their battles weighed on the two men.

  
“Excellent job with the witnesses.” Castiel griped, already over the attitude he could feel radiating through the cold night air of the hunter’s dream. He saw Dean's shoulders rear back as his lungs drew in the breath of his reply.  
  
“You were hip to all this?” Dean felt his muscles tighten at the implication. The angels had left them to take care of these ghosts by themselves? Good people died.  
  
“I was, uh, made aware.” His reply was short as he tried to evade the hunters wrath, unsuccessfully. His shoulders were tight as he leaned against the counter of the dusty farmhouse. His eye flicked over behind Dean, to the stairs that he knew led to the bedrooms. Castiel momentarily wondered what Poppie would be like in Dean’s dream world. Then immediately regretted it.  
  
“Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest! Poppie met her mother for the first time as a deranged tortured spirit who wanted her dead! She's probably still upstairs crying her eyes out and you were 'uh, made aware' ?”   
  
“But you didn't die.” Castiel kept a stoic face as Dean continued to unload on him. His words came out in a vomit of emotions and waning adrenaline from the fight.  
  
“I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks.” Dean's words triggered something inside of the Angel he hadn't felt before. He felt a heat rising in his chest that made his words tight and hot.  
  
“Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier.” Castiel felt the words seep out of the thin line his lips had become involuntarily as he held on to the last bit of composure he could muster.  
  
“Yeah? Then, why didn't you fight?”  
  
Castiel's calm exterior broke, “I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns.”  
  
“Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! She prayed to you, you know, when her _mother_ told her she wished she had drowned her in the bath tub. And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?”  
  
The mention of the girl caught him off guard, “There's a God.” 

  
“I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?” Dean was in full force as he ripped the celestial a new one, he had enough of this crap. His life had been one shit show after another, he was damned if some all powerful being that could've stopped it all was going to get a shred of respect from him.  
  
Castiel had lost his footing, all he could think about was the woman who had turned his world upside down. Why had his Father made her suffer through so much? “The Lord works...” His eyes traveled over the feet of his vessel, his thoughts traveled a thousand words a minute as he tried to work through just what she must have gone through.  
  
“If you say 'mysterious ways,' so help me, I will kick your ass. So, Bobby was right... about the witnesses. This is some kind of a... sign of the apocalypse.” This brought the struggling Angel back into the conversation. 

 

He took his nervous eyes and locked them with the angry man in front of him. “That's why we're here. Big things afoot.”   
  
“Does it have anything to do with what Poppie can do, what she is? Do I even want to know what kind of things?”  
  
“I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know that the rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals. Poppie Singer is human, we are not sure why or how she can access the thoughts and messages of Angels and you would be best served to keep that information to yourself.” He tried to hide concern over the aforementioned woman, and that he hadn't told the other angels of her abilities. The last thing he needed right now was Dean doubting his allegiances and refusing to put his faith in their plans.   
  
“Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld. And what do you mean keep that information to myself? Who the hell am I gonna tell? Demons? Let me just turn my sister over to Hell, real nice.”  
  
“Those seals are being broken by Lilith.” The name leaving Castiel's lips caused the man to jerk and then a flash of realization flooded over him. Castiel artfully changed the subject.  
  
“She did the spell. She rose the witnesses.” The seasoned hunter swore in front of Heaven's warrior.   
  
“Mm-hmm. And not just here; 20 other hunters are dead.” The warrior felt another wave of relief that the Winchesters and Singers were safe, even if he wasn't sure why he cared so much.

 

Dean opened his eyes to find the bright sun of morning shining through the slits of the library's wooden blinds, no Angel to be found.

 

**_SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN_ **

“I heard you were confronted by the spirit of your mother today.” Castiel stood behind the woman in black as she stared out over a warm and sunny shore. Waves pulled in and pushed out rhythmically to the beating of her heart, he could feel it as he inhabited her dreams. With a pulse of energy he felt out the rest of her corporeal body, finding minimal injuries and sighing a breath of confused relief. Her shoulders were bowed, and her hair was a dim sort of blond instead of her usual brilliant. “Her soul was corrupted by the spell cast by Lilith to break one of the seals of the apocalypse.”

  
“Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us.” Her face didn't move from the ocean, her body didn't flinch in the breeze.   
  
Castiel walked up beside her, taking in the view of the sea himself, “Lilith has a certain sense of humor.” Her eyes swept over him quickly while he was distracted, she smirked to herself when the color of her ocean took on a more... particular blue.  
  
“We put those spirits back to rest. Including my mom.” Her mind tried to wander back over the day, but she held her thoughts to the Angel at her side.  
  
“Unfortunately, It doesn't matter. The seal was broken. But I visited your Mother and the other spirits in Heaven. They are all at peace.” He sighed into the breeze and continued to study the waves in front of him. He found himself wondering where they were.  
  
“Why bother to break the seal anyway? What does it mean?” Poppie felt fragile, broken that her mother was used against her in this way. Anger bubbled inside her toward the demon Lilith that made the feelings she had experienced while Dean was in Hell look like a little tiff.  
  
“You think of the seals as locks on a door.” Poppie's arm brushed the trench coated arm of the Angel's vessel, causing him to feel... hot.  
  
She was gently swaying now, and finding herself brushing against him on purpose as they spoke, “Last one opens and...?”   
  
“Lucifer walks free.” His voice was grave and rough, the confession came out easily but he wanted to take it back. Immediately, Poppie froze and turned her entire body in toward Castiel.  
  
“Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story.”  
  
“Three days ago, you thought I was just a story.” The waves picked up and the sky darkened as the woman processed his words.  
  
“Lucifer.” Her blood began to boil and then it ran cold like the waves in front of her. Lucifer... the devil himself. Of course there was a Devil, he _was_ an angel after all. Just like Castiel.

 

“I have been assigned to protect you.”  
  
“Well... bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. My mother told me her biggest regret in life was not giving me to the demon who killed her then she put her _hand_ inside my _chest_.”   
  
“We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week.” His stance hardened beside her, all these humans were the same. Selfish and completely small sighted. “Though I do regret that you had to experience this, you are an integral part of Heaven’s defense.” 

 

Her heart dropped. Of course that was all she was to him. A weapon in their war. Her swaying stopped as her bones turned rigid with frustration. “I’m sorry your brothers died, I’ve lost brothers. But I will not be used in your fight like some atomic bomb!” 

 

“Lucifer will rise, Poppie. _The Devil._ Why are you humans all so single minded?” Castiel pushed his shoulders into her direction intimidatingly, but Poppie only lengthened stature. 

 

“I’m sorry, humans are single minded? The only thing going through that angel radio is a play by play of the apocalypse! A thousand Angels, all thinking the same thing!” Her eyes flared as the sky turned dark above them. 

 

“I do not understand why you and Dean do not grasp the gravity of situation. Billions of people will die.” His voice was in the bottom of his throat, scratching his vocal cords on the way out. How could they be so stubborn? They are the hands in which all of creation is carried, and they won’t do the simple things to keep it safe? He noticed the thunder before he felt the wind pick up. His eyes darted around the one peaceful shore ripped into hurricane devastation in seconds. The air around him grew humid. The energy pulled toward the sky as if something was charging to attack.  
  
“POPPIE!” A voice pulled her from her dream before she could rebuke Castiel’s last remark. She sat up too quickly and held her sore head, bruised from being thrown into a wall hours before. Castiel stood invisible just beyond reach, eyes widened to the point of strain. He saw her gasp for breath as he was thrown back into his vessel un She groaned and forced herself to get out of bed, realizing she had passed out in her clothes from yesterday. Her feet dragged her down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, Dean greeted her from the table with a grunt. Poppie poured herself a coffee and sat down beside him without saying a word.

  
Sam raised his eyebrows at the two, “You guys all right? What's wrong?”   
  
Dean looked up from his own mug of coffee, “So... You got no problem believing in... God and Angels?”  
  
“No, not really.” Sam was trying to be lighthearted, it got harder by the day.  
  
Poppie watched the ripples in her own drink and spoke without taking her eyes off them, “So, I guess that means that you believe in the Devil.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave some kudos!


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